If you live here — and by here I mean anywhere north of the Harriman toll plaza — then you have a place in the country.

If you live here — and by here I mean anywhere north of the Harriman toll plaza — then you have a place in the country.

Now, I know some of you don't believe me. You're in a town house or a suburban cul-de-sac, maybe even an apartment. But to your friends and family down south — and by south I mean places like New York City, White Plains and the commuter towns of New Jersey — then you do, in fact, have a place in the country.

Of course, some of you have farmhouses and carriage houses and rambling Queen Annes. All these dwellings, though, have one thing in common. Especially during the summer: Weekend guests.

Of course, we love having visitors. But there are certain rules of etiquette, ones that even the most sophisticated city dweller may be unaware of.

Here then, are some Weekender Rules. If you're uncomfortable mentioning these to your guests, just clip this out and tape it somewhere they're sure to come across it, like in your wine closet or medicine chest:

Yes, we have all kinds of wonderful things to eat around here. Local wildflower honey. Organic goat cheese. Brown eggs. Strawberries so fresh that they're still warm from the sun. But we don't have a Zabar's, so bring us some of their kosher salami and a couple pounds of coffee beans. Try and blend, at least just a little, if we take you to the local farm market.

This means no Chanel sunglasses, no Ralph Lauren vintage bohemian sundress, and no gushing about how "really, really adorable" the farmers are.

And keep in mind that very few of them take debit cards.

Our house is your house. But don't touch the gas grill. Let nature's sounds prevail. (That's polite, upstate lingo for, "Can't you at least stay off the cell while we're hiking/fishing/garage saling? Sheesh.") Absolutely offer to give your host a little gas money. It's only fair, especially since you borrowed their car, drove it from the Newburgh Waterfront to Lew Beach, and reprogrammed all the radio stations. Stick to the agreed-upon schedule. This means that if you told your hosts you were heading back to the city Sunday morning, go back Sunday morning.

We loved having you, but, well, we have stuff to do, too. Like stopping by the farm market and explaining to the maple syrup guy's wife that you weren't flirting with her husband. You simply think all farmers are adorable.

Yes, even up here, you're supposed to tip. And even up here, 20 percent is the new 15 percent. Please, please, please, do not make us bring you to Wal-Mart. Or Target. Or the Home Depot on Saturday morning.

We know what will happen: The place will be packed, but you'll still want to shop and shop and shop, and you'll buy all kinds of big, plastic things. Garbage pails. Storage tubbies. Laundry baskets.

All the items that you never want to buy in the city because you don't want to be the guy lugging a garbage pail or a storage tubby or an empty laundry basket up the sidewalk. So you'll buy it here.

Then we'll spend the rest of the weekend trying to figure out how you're going to get the aforementioned giant plastic thing onto the bus back to the city.

And no, we can't drive you home.

Sullivan County resident Lisa Ramirez reveals her common-sense rules for savvy living each Sunday. Contact her at Lmjramirez@hotmail.com.